


Quietus Interruptus

by HelenaHandbasket



Series: The Camping Series [5]
Category: Smallville
Genre: Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-03-07
Updated: 2003-03-07
Packaged: 2017-10-09 16:48:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/89565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HelenaHandbasket/pseuds/HelenaHandbasket
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Season 1. Clark and Lex's camping trip comes to an interesting climax.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quietus Interruptus

Quietus Interruptus  
by Helena Handbasket

Clark awoke with a start, a raging hard-on, and the lingering taste of cognac on his lips. The first two states of affairs had become so common in recent months as to be considered part of his morning routine, but the third one: that was wholly new and utterly disorienting. He sat up abruptly and looked around, his brain slowly registering where he was and what he was doing there and who he was wi... Holy shit. Immediately, Clark's eyes darted to the other side of the tent, where Lex's sleeping bag lay neatly smoothed and distinctly empty.

They were roughly twenty four hours into a camping trip to Lex's old stomping grounds in the Colorado mountains. While the situation had initially seemed like a dream come true for Clark, the previous day had been one of the most frustrating of his life as wave upon wave of his advances had bounced off of Lex as if he were wearing a meteorite vest. However, just as Clark had finally given up, he had experienced a sudden, bizarre reversal of fortune and found himself happily straddling the object of his affections and engaging in... well... a substantial fraction of his most illicit to-do list.

Clark frowned, momentarily wondering whether the dizzying images that suddenly flooded his mind were actual memories or the persistent aftershocks of a dream. More specifically, the hottest fucking dream he'd ever had.

After a moment's deliberation, however, he shook his head vigorously. No, last night couldn't have been a dream. He was positive of that. He could picture every detail perfectly: Lex reaching up to kiss him, fingers tangling in his hair, the gentleness of the contact swiftly advancing to furious ardor; Lex rolling them over, gripping Clark with his legs and prowling forward to take his lips again, his hands sliding along Clark's up-stretched arms to pin his wrists above his head; Lex, half-smiling, half-snarling, nuzzling along his jaw-line and then leaning in for a passionate bite, hard enough that he could feel it and sensual enough that he had cried out in pleasure. Lex, Lex, Lex. Even as he lay alone in the tent staring blankly up at the unvarying grey of the roof, the visions of passion and the sensations they elicited were overwhelming.

Clark sighed contentedly and settled back into his pillow, permitting himself the fatuous, self-congratulatory smile of a too-self-aware teenager acknowledging a major life milestone. Everything that had happened between him and Lex had been perfect and incredible and hot - like in the steamy classics that had been banned from the Smallville Public Library or the late-night movies on the cable channels his parents refused to subscribe to. It had been a night of the stuff that letters to 'Playboy' were made of - only 'Playboy' for gay guys. 'Gayboy?'

Snickering at this prospect, Clark shook his head and grinned at himself for being a moron. And for being so happy about it. And at the thought of how Lex might choose wish him a good morning. And pretty much at life in general. What had started out as an innocent - well, mostly innocent - weekend getaway was turning out to be one hell of an experience. The satisfaction that Clark now felt, the giddiness, the confidence, the anticipation... these feelings more than made up for the prolonged snake-charming act Lex had put him through the previous day.

His smile undimmed, Clark rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and indulged in a long, languid stretch. The sounds of the Great Outdoors - singing birds and the rustle of the spring breeze through verdant foliage - filtered into the tent. As he rolled his neck his mind wandered back to the memory of the possessive bite that Lex had planted on his throat. The very thought of it elicited from him a throaty, satisfied moan. That bite had really gotten to him. Clark smiled faintly. So he was a little kinky... who knew?

The shrill cry of a distant hawk abruptly broke through the soothing backdrop of arboreal white noise, rousing Clark from his dreamlike musing. He sat up laboriously and gave his entire face a vigorous rub as he swung his legs out of the sleeping bag. Morning was, admittedly, a long way from being his finest hour but at least today he had some incentive for getting up.

Nevertheless, it was not until several minutes later that Clark finally deemed himself presentable enough to leave the tent. He had thankfully managed to purge himself of the very noticeable condition below the belt, although his smile remained so ludicrously broad that the top of his head was in danger of falling off. He blinked against the sun as he ventured into the daylight, surprised at how high it was on the horizon.

"Well good morning, Sunshine." A deadpanned greeting welcomed him to the world of the conscious.

He looked around the campsite blearily to find Lex crouching by the barely smoldering fire and smirking up at him. "Hey," Clark croaked, his smile widening perilously as he spared a few moments to take in the full effect of Lex in the Springtime.

The young billionaire had not evidently suffered from a night away from his goose-down pillows and custom-engineered mattress. He looked as striking as ever in grey, faded jeans and a tight black t-shirt. Classic Lex-Casual. But while his greeting was undeniably warm and affectionate, it bore a somewhat commonplace "Good Morning, Clark, I hope you slept well" tone rather than the more encouraging "You drooled on me last night and I liked it - let's get naked" air that he had been hoping for.

Despite this minor setback, however, Clark remained heroically unfazed as the flash of Lex's smile reminded him of the coveted bite. He could still practically feel the phantom sting of Lex's teeth, surrounded by the delicious warmth of his lips. "You know," he said, meandering casually towards the campfire with an impish grin, "you sunk those teeth in awfully hard last night." He rubbed his neck as if it hadn't healed instantly. "You should be more careful. You could hurt someone."

At the campfire, Lex halted his large drink of coffee mid-swallow and reacted to this statement with an odd look, his brow furrowed in puzzlement.

Both grin and confidence suddenly wavering, Clark did his best to quell the incipient paranoia that he was making an idiot of himself. Again. "Be... because you bit me," he clarified. "Right here." He pointed instructively to the sensitive spot just below the angle of his jaw but was uncertain whether Lex had registered the information, as he was busy spewing a mouthful of coffee all over what remained of the campfire.

"I what?!" he sputtered, looking up at Clark half-laughing, half-coughing.

Clark blanched and then blushed with a succinctness that could power an atomic clock. This couldn't be happening, could it? He remembered the bite distinctly but Lex looked genuinely surprised at the accusation. Clark's eyes widened with the horror of gradual realization that he and Lex had markedly different accounts of what had happened the previous evening. So the question became: was Lex attempting to invoke plausible deniability or had Clark somehow managed to hallucinate the entire thing?

Brow furrowed, Clark somberly reviewed his stance. As vivid as his memories seemed he just wasn't willing to accept that Lex would overtly lie about what had or had not happened between them. And upon closer inspection the recollections of his tryst with Lex did have a sort of surreal quality about them... Perhaps the entire encounter was an artifact of the cognac that he had overlooked. It hadn't *seemed* to affect him that strongly but given his total inexperience with alcohol and its after-effects, anything was possible. He frowned but managed to muster the wherewithal to speak. "You... you didn't bite me." The remark was neither a question nor a declaration; mostly it was a synonym for, "Well, fuck."

Meanwhile, Lex's face had assumed an odd expression that Clark couldn't identify, although he was reasonably certain that it *wasn't* the type of look a man adopts when remembering that, oh yes, he *did* bite that teenage boy after all.

Lex soon confirmed this prognosis. "I'm afraid not," he said, shaking his head with an earnest laugh as he rose and dusted himself off. "Sounds like quite an interesting dream, though." He considered a moment before adding, "But just to be safe, maybe you'd better cut back on those vampire shows of yours."

"Yeah," Clark frowned, looking away uncomfortably. How had he allowed himself to become so caught up in what was just the wayward remnants of a fantasy? He could hardly blame the cognac - what minor effects he had felt had dwindled rapidly. Clearly, he had let his wishful subconscious get the better of him. Particularly after the previous day's ongoing battle with Lex and his mother-load of mixed signals, he really should have known better. Clark shook his head, embarrassed by how poorly he was hiding his disappointment, and resisted the temptation to drop to his knees and yell, 'Noooooo!' Instead he opted for the more prudent, "No more vampires. Right."

With a soft but pointed smile, Lex approached him and reached out to brush his thumb against the underside of Clark's jaw. "Besides," he said slyly, fingers resting on the back of his neck and thumb tracing soft circles around the spot Clark had indicated, "the skin here is unbroken. If I had bitten you there would be some kind of a mark." He paused meaningfully. "Wouldn't there?"

Clark's eyes flitted briefly to meet Lex's before he looked away again. "Good point," he mumbled, too furious at his own deceitful subconscious to appreciate the gentle warmth of Lex's touch or even to register the intimacy it implied. Rather than dwell on his uncertainties, he decided it was time for an emergency subject change. "So," he asked at last, "how long have you been up?"

Lex considered him curiously for a few moments before pulling his hand away and looking dubiously at his watch. "About four hours," he replied. "I was just about to go in and wake you. I'm getting ready to start breakfast." He glanced at his wrist again. "Let's make that *brunch*."

"Oh. Sorry."

"You know," Lex said, waving off the apology with amusement as he ambled back to the campfire, "for a farm boy you don't seem to be much of a morning person." Crouching, he prodded the ashes with a long stick and found that the shower of coffee had extinguished what little remained of its life.

'Thanks, dad.' Clark harrumphed, exercising his right to feel surly in the face of apocryphal sexual conquest. He wandered over to the cooler and slumped down upon it, scraping at the distasteful, carpet-like coating that had accumulated on his tongue with a scowl. After a few moments he looked up, squinting at the intensity of the mid-morning sun, and asked, "So what are we having?"

"Well, at the moment, nothing. At least not until we get this fire going again." Lex poked at the dead embers emphatically. "Listen, why don't you take what's left of the kindling and see if you can breathe some life into it. You seem to be good at that kind of thing." The sardonic smile that accompanied this last statement quickly faded at Clark's unresponsiveness. "I'll go collect some more firewood and then we can eat." Frowning, he ducked his head to try and meet Clark's averted gaze. "Okay?"

"Sure," Clark mumbled. "Great." He stared down at the fire, lifting his eyes to look at Lex only once he was sure his back was turned. With a sad sigh, he watched his companion disappear beyond the line of trees and shuffled over to the funereal campfire, berating himself for having made the conversation so fucking awkward.

So the bite, and presumably everything that went with it, had all been just his hyperactive imagination. Every kiss from Lex, every touch, every caress. All just a stupid, sexy fantasy concocted by his stupid, stupid brain. Clark scowled. "Et tu, brain?"

Of course, it wasn't as if his cause were totally hopeless. At worst he was exactly where he had been the previous night: his attempts to seduce Lex masterfully thwarted, his advances side-stepped, and his flirtation either ignored or manipulated to his own disadvantage. Clark winced at the assessment. Actually it did sound kind of hopeless. Well, fuck. What the hell was he going to do with himself? And why was Lex such a fucking tease? And how had Clark become so damn pathetic? And when did he start swearing so much in his inner monologues? The answers to these questions all began differently: "Whatever he could with..." "Because he was..." "Under the influence of..." "The day he met..." but they all ended the same.

Lex fucking Luthor.

With a lugubrious sigh, Clark crouched and began poking at the ashes of the campfire, its flames quenched by the very coffee it had been kindled to brew. And suddenly, unexpectedly, another memory crept up on him, offering a welcome respite from his soap operatic malaise. Lex. Fire. The bizarre red light that had flooded his vision and the subsequent blaze in Lex's sleeping bag. Had all of that been a dream as well?

He began meticulously reconstructing the events of the evening, trying to recall the exact set of circumstances that had led up to Lex catching on fire - that is if it had actually happened. The whole situation was completely baffling. There was no obvious cause, unless... Clark paused, his brain searching furiously for another explanation but coming up empty. If it *did* happen, he must have been the cause somehow. There was no other way.

Absently, Clark reached down and grabbed a nearby twig, holding it up and staring at it intently. Nothing. What exactly had he done? He thought back on the conditions of the previous night. He had been gazing at Lex through closed eyelids, willing himself to project a deluge of love and passion and... heat.

Clark raised his eyebrows and held up the twig again, striving to recreate the intensity of emotion he had felt but nothing happened. He frowned and looked at the palm of his hand, staring at it with redoubled effort. At last he saw something: a dim spot of red light that glowed weakly against his skin. Not very impressive but it was a start. And yet the pathetic amount of heat it generated had no better chance of starting a fire than a flashlight. So what had been the difference?

Throwing the twig aside in annoyance, Clark blinked for a few moments and then it struck him. He had had his eyes closed. Maybe he just needed to give the energy some time to build up. Fueled with renewed determination, Clark crouched in front of the sickly campfire. He piled all of the remaining wood on top of the half-burned timber and closed his eyes, thinking of Lex. He forced all of his hunger and want and lust and need and passion to the front of his consciousness and directed it at the dying embers. He thought of that bite, those kisses, and the raw look of desire on Lex's face and how desperately he wanted them to be real. His eyelids were throbbing under the pressure of the wave of emotions and, unable to stand it any longer, he opened them.

Just as he remembered from the previous night, Clark was blinded by a red flash, impossibly bright and of short duration. He blinked a few times to recover his vision and stared at the campfire, which had leapt alive with flame. He laughed in triumphant amazement, hurrying to ignite a few additional twigs and placing them strategically to ensure that the fire would spread properly. He sat there for a few minutes just beaming at the fire, so pleased with himself that he didn't even register the sound of approaching footsteps.

"Clark?"

He looked up abruptly to see Lex glancing from him to the fire and back again.

"I came back to bring you the matches," he drawled, tossing a small matchbook at Clark, who snatched it out of the air and looked down at it guiltily. "But it looks like you're doing fine without them."

"Yeah," Clark replied dismissively. "It's an old farmer's trick." He shrugged and offered Lex a winning grin. The thrill of his newfound power, principally useless though it was, had helped him recover from his earlier disappointment by providing the assurance that not *everything* he recalled from the previous night had been a dream. If nothing else, the expression of genuine affection he had perceived on Lex's face before the fire had erupted had been real. It proved that there was hope after all. Lots of it. Take that, brain.

Lex merely shook his head in the face of Clark's disarming smile, not bothering to return it. "Well, as long as the fire's going I might as well get started on brunch," he said absently. "Why don't you go wash up and pick up some extra firewood on your way back." He walked over to the cooler and began rifling through it.

Clark frowned, startled and wounded by Lex's suddenly distant manner, particularly in contrast to the amiable warmth with which the morning had begun. He stood for a few moments, pondering the back of Lex's head as he focused his attention obdurately on the contents of the cooler. It soon became apparent that the abrupt dismissal had been intentional and Clark could think of no alternative but to do as Lex had suggested. He grabbed a washcloth out of his backpack and wandered off to take a much-needed leak and splash some water on his face from the nearby mountain stream. As he departed, Clark noted grimly that his episodes of self-confidence and optimism seemed to be getting shorter and shorter lived.

 

*  
*  
*

 

Lex sighed as he watched Clark's melancholy departure, feeling a twinge of guilt for the curtness of his dismissal. He hadn't intended to be so brusque but he was becoming increasingly frustrated with Clark's behavior and it was making him irritable. With a faint scowl he gathered an armload of ingredients from the cooler and seated himself on the log next to the now-blazing campfire.

A couple of slow, steady breaths calmed him to the point that he trusted himself to handle eggs and he extracted two from the carton, breaking them deftly into an iron skillet. Lex's frustration stemmed from several sources, not the least of which was his ever-growing list of Clark-related fantasies just waiting to be fulfilled. But his principal basis of annoyance was the casual ease and calculated deliberateness of Clark's continued secrecy. The veil of clumsy obfuscation was utterly transparent at this juncture but its presence vexed him none the less.

The circumstances of the fire in the tent the previous evening had preyed upon Lex's mind all morning but he had resisted the temptation of bringing up the incident in the hope that Clark would voluntarily admit his culpability. He felt that they had gained at least a modicum of personal intimacy the day before and as a result he had presumed to hope that Clark would become somewhat more forthcoming in his confidence. To Lex's chagrin, his presumption had been just that. Clark seemed as determined as ever to mask his powers. Lex had been wrong. He *hated* being wrong.

The first infraction of the morning had been Clark's overt side-stepping of the bite-mark issue, although Lex was willing to let it slide on the basis of Clark's obvious disorientation. His subsequent attempt to spur Clark into confession by parlaying the topic towards physical invulnerability had been sloppily executed, not to mention poorly timed. Poor Clark had been so confused that even Lex's subtle-as-an-anvil-made-of-hillbillies flirtation had flown right past him. Besides, the context just wasn't on his side. There's a reason that the "impervious to hickeys" superpower doesn't surface much in the comics.

For Lex, the breaking point had come when he had caught Clark in front of a blazing fire without so much as a pair of sticks to rub together. The guilt was obvious in his face and his body language, but had Clark taken the opportunity to come clean and let his pyrokinesis out of the closet? No. Lex scoffed and prodded at the eggs as they sizzled and popped violently in the skillet. Did Clark actually believe that Lex was oblivious to his extraordinary gifts? That the evidence of the fire juxtaposed with the spontaneous combustion of his sleeping bag the previous evening might not set off some alarms in his head? Now *that* was just insulting.

Lex sighed and shook his head bitterly. Wounded pride aside, the simple fact was that Clark was still holding back. For whatever reason, Clark still didn't trust him enough. With a faint frown, Lex wondered what he would have to do, how much he would have to give to earn that trust. He furrowed his brow, silently asking himself whether any price was too high.

Probably not. Victory had become far too important to him and he was no longer content to settle for part of the package. At some point, the concepts of Clark's secrets and Clark's sexual allure had ceased to become separable goals. He *had* to have both or he wouldn't be satisfied and they had to be freely given or their value would be forfeit.

It was obvious to Lex that, on a superficial level, Clark was his for the taking but that simply wasn't enough. He didn't *want* just a permanent boy toy. If that was what he was after he could pick one up in Metropolis for ten grand, some heroin and a hell of a lot less angst. Jesus, they were practically free.

No, what he wanted was the total package of Clark. So why didn't he have it yet? Lex contemplated for a few moments, taking time to seriously and objectively review the events of the previous day. His face contorted guiltily, wincing against the mighty bitch-slap of epiphany. Why didn't he have what he wanted? Because he'd been acting like a total fucking prick, that's why.

So much of life is about rationalization. And Lex had been rationalizing his behavior to the extent that it flew right over the line into self-deception. He had been so intent on navigating the most advantageous and efficacious route to his final destination that he had failed to recognize the fundamental cruelty of it. His friendship with Clark was one of the few things in the world that Lex deemed truly valuable and yet he had been treating it with the same cold logic he used to manage his stock portfolio. Worst of all, he had been myopic enough to overlook the underlying hypocrisy in his actions. Hasty as he was to classify Clark's secrets as a commodity, he had failed to notice the currency he was proposing to offer up in return. He wanted information and Clark wanted sex and like a playground bully Lex had been dangling the latter just out of reach. What a fucking, goddamned asshole.

Lex exhaled sharply, screwing up his face in abject self-contempt. Trust was simply not concrete. It wasn't something you could demand as ransom or have notarized and locked in a safety deposit box. It was an abstract asset, like non-transferable intellectual property. Or maybe like an inheritance whose benefactor had to be determined by an objective solicitor. No, it was more like... fuck, it wasn't like any of that. Lex scowled. He couldn't even fucking articulate the concept outside the formalism of the financial mindset. And describing trust in a purely fiscal vocabulary was akin to defining an arbitrary point in Cartesian three-space with two-dimensional basis vectors - there just wasn't sufficient depth. Lex shook his head. God, he was fucked up.

"Easy there, Lex," he reminded himself, suddenly cognizant of how worked up he was getting. He chuckled grimly, finding his extended bout of self-flagellation oddly entertaining, and added some grated cheese to the sizzling eggs in the skillet. Once again he noted with amazement the tremendous power Clark seemed to wield over his psyche.

'Let's summarize,' he mused. 'Clark has made me rash, overly emotional, shameful, contrite, and horny. He's made me turn a blind eye to my emotions, convince myself of false motivations, enter into unfavorable business ventures, and be seen in public purchasing a flat bed pick-up.' He chuckled. 'And people think *I'm* a bad influence on *him*. Ha.' Lex laughed again, shaking his head at the ludicrousness of it all, at the notion that knowing Clark had so significantly altered his behavior. When he had first moved to Smallville his father had made oblique allusions to the perils of befriending innocent farm boys but had been far too inexplicit with respect to the gravity of the danger. Chalk up one more transgression for which Lionel ought not to be forgiven.

Fortunately, all was far from lost. Clark was obviously still interested in him, despite his behavior. Hell, the kid was even having explicit biting dreams about him, which was definitely a good sign. Lex's only quandary was how he should take things from here. He sprinkled the omelet with feta and deftly folded it as he devised his final strategy for reaching all of his Clark-related goals: no more fucking strategizing.

It was a good plan, optimally formulated given the set of circumstances, although deep down Lex wondered how long he would be able to commit to a strategy-free strategy before his superego got fed up and decided to run things itself. He had never bought into the "Less is more" philosophy. In fact, he believed that the modernist architectural movement, for which the phrase served as a battle cry, was a load of crap, more the product of lazy architects and stingy property owners than of a grand artistic vision. Nevertheless he vowed to uphold the plan for as long as he could bear and it was with a hopeful smile that Lex gave the completed omelet a final flip for good measure and slid it onto a serving plate.

As it turned out, Lex was fortunate that he didn't need the time to develop a more complex set of tactics because moments later Clark shuffled into the clearing looking mopey and uncertain. Lex smiled warmly at him, pushing his lingering bitterness about the trust issue forcibly to the back of his mind. He poured two tall glasses of orange juice and handed one wordlessly to Clark, who accepted it with a mixture of confusion and relief.

His smile unwavering, Lex took a large drink of juice and noticed that the taste seemed different somehow: sharper and more flavorful. Huh. Could it be that constant scheming and mental multi-tasking subtly altered the flavor of fruit juice? The hypothesis was unconvincing but he certainly wasn't going to object - that was some delicious fucking juice.

With a melodramatic flourish, Lex gestured for Clark to sit down to breakfast, more than a little curious to learn what a reverse-psychology free omelet would taste like.

 

*  
*  
*

By the time they had finished their meal, Clark and Lex had settled back into their usual rapport and Clark, at least, was grateful for it. It may not have been the orgy of innuendo and smoldering glances he would have preferred but it was happy... comfortable... them. And whatever bee had flown up Lex's ass earlier in the morning had apparently found its way out again.

Lex smiled pleasantly as Clark scraped off the dishes and set them aside. "So," he said, glancing down at his watch, "it's not quite noon yet. We've still got time to fit in a hike before we have to pack up and get out of here. You up for it?"

"Absolutely," Clark replied. He had heard a great deal about the beauties of Eleven Mile Canyon from Pete, whose family had vacationed on the lake at its base one summer. If he went back to Smallville and revealed that the best scenery he had encountered all weekend had been the fire in Lex's sleeping bag he would never live it down. And if he was going to be mocked for something like that he wanted it to be for the right reasons. "Got a place in mind?" He half-hoped Lex would suggest hiking to the cabin, just so he could see for himself the degree of understatement involved in the Luthors' definition of the word.

"Of course." Lex rose and grabbed a pair of water bottles from the cooler, tossing one to Clark. "I've got just the spot." He ambled over to Clark and gifted him with a secretive smile. "Brace yourself," he whispered, "you're about experience a rare glimpse into the troubled childhood of Lex Luthor."

Clark laughed. "An insider's exclusive, eh? And me without my notepad and Dictaphone. Chloe will be crushed." This implication didn't seem to distress Lex so much as bore him. "But she'll get over it," he added hastily.

Wincing slightly, Clark seriously hoped his remark about Chloe had not disrupted the atmosphere of good cheer. He had long believed that with their mood swings and incomprehensible behavior girls were the most complicated beings on the planet... but then he had met Lex. And unlike the apparent arbitrariness and chaos of feminine whim, it was clear that there was a logic behind Lex's changeable temperament. Clark just wasn't astute enough to decipher it - not yet, at least. But he was really hoping to learn. "So," he said, attempting to move the conversation along, "where are we going?"

"Just a little hole in the wall," Lex shrugged. "Nothing special, really." The glint in his eye alluded more to a pleasant surprise than to false modesty or, indeed, genuine modesty.

"If this place is so ordinary then why are we going there?" Clark demanded, lifting his eyebrows in challenge. As amusing as it was to call Lex on his egregious understatements, Clark found few things more delightful than the look of pleased satisfaction that appeared on Lex's face whenever he did so.

Sly eyes darting briefly to the side, Lex stifled a smile as he answered. "Because it's where I spent my formative summers hiding out and I thought you might appreciate a demonstration of the anti-social tendencies of my youth. Besides," he added wistfully, "it's got a hell of a view."

At that, Lex offered Clark a companionable wink and strode determinedly out of the clearing, angling for the western ridge.

 

An hour later, they were still hiking westward at what was probably a brisker pace than prudence would dictate. They had emerged from the shelter of the trees shortly after leaving the campsite and most of their journey had been spent skirting along the narrow ledges of the mountain face. Periodically, they had had to double back to find a trail that wasn't barred by boulders but the time it added to their hike didn't bother Clark in the least as he was enjoying himself immensely. Lex hadn't been exaggerating about the view: the dynamic landscape of the canyon spread out before them, broad and spectacular. Intermittent flashes of gold shined up through the trees at its heart, where the serpentine river that had carved it over millennia glinted brightly in the sun.

But the grandeur of the scenery was nothing in comparison to the companionship. They had chatted casually for most of the hike, their conversation mostly involving Clark asking Lex questions about his childhood and Lex answering them with varying degrees of causticity. The exchange was a pleasant contrast to the way Lex typically dealt with revealing personal information, meting it out meticulously like a cautious pharmacist. Usually when Lex spoke about his childhood it was more like a tragic soliloquy than an open dialogue: he provided whatever information was relevant to making his point and then closed the vault. Clark had learned more about Lex in the last hour than he had in six months of friendship. He was still trying to figure out whether to find that refreshing or disturbing.

"So you really came out here every day when you were a kid?"

Lex smiled. "Just on summer weekends when my dad came up from Metropolis," he said. "I'd camp back at the clearing on Friday and Saturday nights and hike out here during the day to enjoy my solitude in style. Then Sunday evening I'd turn around and go back to the cabin - it's about three hours on the other side of the campsite."

"Oh." Clark swallowed uncomfortably. The one thing about Lex that he found utterly incomprehensible was his obvious contempt for his father. While Clark and his dad had their spats now and then, he couldn't fathom wanting to purge him from his life completely. "Was he really that bad?" he asked hesitantly. "Your dad, I mean."

His smile fading, Lex responded with a dismissive shrug. "It's all relative, I guess. There are certainly much worse fathers out there." Distracted, he tread upon a tangle of pine needles and loose shale, momentarily losing his footing. He managed to catch himself and recover his balance almost immediately but not before Clark had reacted on instinct, rushing forward for the rescue.

Clark instantly regretted the excessive speed of his reaction, hoping that it had gone unnoticed by his companion. He breathed a sigh of relief when Lex went on with no more than a quizzical backwards glance.

"I have to admit," Lex continued, "that when I was small I *did* come out here because I was afraid of him. My father's got quite a temper but I'll let you in on a little secret - he's more bark than bite. Later in life, I had different motivations." He took a deep breath and ran a hand over his scalp. "Mostly I just wanted some peace and quiet - to be able to pursue my interests without him constantly harping over me." He chuckled bitterly. "God forbid I waste my time reading Thomas Aquinas when there was a page of Kant or Machiavelli left unturned."

Clark winced at the mention of the dreaded M-word, recalling with embarrassment the recent incident in which Lex had gently but amusedly corrected his long-standing belief that Machiavelli was the author of "The Little Prince." He still blamed Chloe for that - he would never forgive her for taking advantage of his innocent misapprehension by smugly suggesting that he use Lex's affinity for the Italian philosopher as an excuse to invite him over to watch the cartoon adaptation of "his" masterpiece on DVD. Evil.

Much to Clark's gratification, Lex's voice broke in to rescue him from this painful memory. "There it is," he said with satisfaction as they rounded an abrupt bend in the path. "My childhood home away from our home away from home."

Clark followed his gaze to a wide outcropping of rock that jutted out of the mountain face a few dozen yards ahead of them. The trail widened as they approached the ledge and Lex picked up his pace, striding forward with relish. The outcropping was broad enough for them both to stand on and they stood in silence for several moments, drinking in the view.

The ledge extended several feet beyond the surface of the cliff, providing a spectacular vista of the entire canyon unimpeded by mountain crags or protruding treetops. The twisting river opened up into a huge lake more than a mile below them. Even at that distance the strange rock formations that dotted the canyon floor glittered brightly, their embedded quartz harvesting the sunlight. On the far side of the canyon, the sheer mountain face was recessed to accommodate a low butte, whose mounded form and long, tapered ledges gave it an eerily human shape. Its form uncannily resembled that of a worshipper kowtowing at the temple of a fearsome god. Clark was confident that this aspect of the landscape, in particular, had not gone unnoticed by Lex.

Although he had probably seen it hundreds of times, Lex appeared no less awestruck at the view. He gazed at the domain laid out before him with rapt delight and breathed the crisp, spring air with relish, as a man tasting oxygen for the first time. When his lungs were sufficiently saturated, he turned to Clark with a proud smile. "So," he said, "What do you think?"

"It's amazing," Clark said candidly, his eyes still trying to take in the scenery and relay it properly to his brain. "There must not be another person for a hundred miles."

"Sure seems that way, doesn't it?" Lex strolled to the ledge casually and kicked at a pine cone, tilting his head as it plummeted noiselessly to the canyon floor. "But believe it or not we're reasonably close to the highway. In fact, the Explorer is parked just on the other side of that ridge." He jerked his head curtly at the mountain face behind him. "Still, as pre-teen hideouts go it's not half-bad."

Clark laughed, smiling at Lex in appreciation. "This place is incredible. I feel like I'm the king of the world..." He paused, wincing as he reviewed his words. "Sorry," he offered somewhat piteously, "I guess that sounded kind of lame and Titanic-y."

Lex smiled. "Don't worry about it," he said. "I used to think the same thing myself until that movie went and ruined the whole concept of 'king of the world.' I wouldn't have thought it possible but there you have it. Further proof for the mind-bogglingly terrifying power of the entertainment industry."

After a moment's silence, Lex chuckled. "You're right, though. 'King of the World' just seems like the most apt description. I even used to call this place 'The Throne' until I got a little older and realized that made it sound like a toilet." He returned his gaze to the remarkable vista and the mirth melted away from his face. "I had almost forgotten how beautiful it was."

"When was the last time you were here?" Clark asked. The inquiry had been intended to be casual but the long pause Lex took before answering revealed it to be a much more penetrating question than he had originally thought.

At last, Lex spoke. "It's been eight years," he said quietly. "The last time I was here my mother was with me." His eyes adopted the distant look that usually accompanied stories about his past. He had switched back into tragic soliloquy mode, but the subject matter, it seemed, warranted the change. "She said she wanted to see for herself why I spent so much time out here, aside from the obvious reasons, so one afternoon we made the long trek from the cabin together. We arrived just as the sun was setting." He laughed. "She opened up a bottle of Bordeaux from the year I was born."

Clark smiled. Finally, a pleasant childhood memory from Lex. "A good year for wine, was it?"

Lex chuckled and offered Clark a purse-lipped smile. "Awful," he admitted, "but it's the thought that counts." He took a deep, cleansing breath and sat down on the ledge, letting his legs dangle freely over the side.

Despite being somewhat wary of the height, Clark joined him. He couldn't help but notice that sitting there gave the impression that he was floating in mid-air. It was exhilarating and terrifying at the same time. The dangerous thrill of climbing the windmill in Chandler's Field would never again hold much sway. Gradually relaxing as he acclimated to the sensation, Clark leaned back and smiled. It felt comfortable being there with Lex and the situation was undeniably romantic. The vastness of the wilderness at their feet and the incomparable freedom made him feel like they were the only two people on Earth. He gazed thoughtfully at Lex and nudged him with his shoulder. "What's on your mind?"

Squinting at the horizon, Lex swallowed uncomfortably. "I'm still thinking about my mom," he confessed, almost ruefully.

"Ah," Clark replied. So much for romance.

His gaze fixed upon an invisible point in the distance and his mind lingering, as it often did, upon events in the past, Lex seemed barely aware of Clark's presence. He was utterly lost in thought. After several moments, he finally spoke. "I can still remember our conversation like it was yesterday," he said, fixing Clark momentarily with a melancholy smile before returning to restlessly survey the canyon.

Clark did not respond, recognizing that sometimes silence was the best answer.

After a moment, Lex continued, closing his eyes as if striving to reconstruct the scene precisely. "She and I were sitting here just as you and I are now, drinking in the landscape. We watched the sun set in silence. It was only when the stars were distinct in the sky and pale moonlight washed over the canyon that she finally spoke. 'What do you see?' she asked.

"'I see the future,' I answered. 'The dominable unknown.' I remember taking a deep breath and smelling the wet, fragrant pine underscored by just a trace of my mother's perfume - Joy, rather ironically. And I smiled faintly and said, 'Someday I want to look at the entire world as we're looking at the canyon now. I want to see it laid out before me and know that it respects me...'" Lex paused, as if deliberating whether to complete the sentiment he had shared with his mother so many years ago, "'that it loves me.'"

He did not wait for Clark to respond. "My mother laughed softly. 'You sound like your father,' she replied.

"And suddenly the heady aromas went dead in my nostrils. I looked at her and said, 'Please don't say that,' but she didn't answer. Instead, she turned away and contemplated the valley. After a while I broke the silence. 'What do you see?' I asked.

"She scanned the canyon with sad eyes and then looked at me with sadder ones. 'I love you, Alexander,' she said simply. And she got up and walked away."

Clark swallowed painfully. The story was giving him a sick feeling in his gut but he was compelled to see it through. Lex had fallen silent, gazing down at where the broad shadows of the mountains fell across the trees. "Then what happened?" Clark asked.

Lex looked up at him suddenly, as if waking from a dream. After a few moments he returned his attention to the scenery, dully contemplating the cloudless sky. "I followed her back to the cabin in silence," he said. "We walked for four hours without a word and when we got home she gave me a watch and the box of St. George. Said she had been saving them to give me when the time was right." He took a deep breath and furrowed his brow. "The next morning she was dead."

"I'm so sorry," Clark whispered, unable to produce a consolation more profound. Lex's attention remained fixed upon the sky and he seemed distinctly disinclined to elaborate. Clark wasn't about to press him for details. He simply reached out a hesitant arm to rest across his shoulders. "I'm sorry," he whispered again.

"Forget about it," Lex said abruptly, shrugging away from Clark's comforting arm and turning to him with a forced smile. "I didn't invite you here to bore you with my autobiography. I apologize." He patted Clark's leg and rose abruptly. "Now let's get back to camp. We've got to pack up soon if we're going to get you home at a decent hour."

As he watched Lex stride briskly from the ledge Clark frowned, realizing that he was probably the only living person that knew the story of Lex's final conversation with his mother. The fact that Lex had shared such a thing with him had been a tremendous compliment, the most personal gift he had ever received. It was an act of trust that Clark wanted more than anything to give in return.

He pondered this notion, trying not to dwell on the sense of rejection he already felt at Lex's dismissal of his attempted consolation. All Clark wanted to do was help, to somehow express that - completely independent of the physical undercurrents of their relationship - he was genuinely grateful to have Lex for a friend. And for the first time in months Clark thought about the pick-up Lex had tried to give him. It was, he realized, probably the only thing Lex had thought he was capable of giving, at least at the time. And as he watched Lex silently pick his way along the mountain trail ahead of him he suddenly, profoundly, regretted having returned it.

 

*  
*  
*

 

Keeping one hand on the mountain face to maintain his balance, Lex picked his way along the path feeling like a complete idiot. How the hell had he allowed a simple little hike turn into a "Poor me, look at my dead Mom," pity session? He sounded like Lana, for Christ's sake. Lex shuddered. Even *he* would not stoop so far as to doing a Lana impersonation in order to win Clark's undying affection.

Behind him, he could hear Clark gaining ground so he picked up his pace. He needed a little more space to collect his thoughts. Exhaling sharply, he shook his head and noted that he was lucky he had already made the commitment to stop treating trust and information as commodities because he had just inadvertently given the bulk of his fortune away for nothing. He hadn't been able to help himself - there was something about Clark that affected him like a truth serum.

Lex smirked at this idea in spite of himself. With Clark, anything was possible. Maybe he was genetically engineered to emit sodium pentothal in his pheromones. In fact, that explained everything. Clark was clearly one of those Top Secret in-vitro government super-soldiers, hence the exceptional strength, speed, and spontaneous combustion abilities. He laughed, finding particular amusement in the thought of the orgasms Roger Nixon and his flunkies over at the Inquisitor would have over a story like that. Shaking his head, Lex allowed himself a genuine smile. The ridiculous super-soldier theory was just the thing he needed to snap him out of his self-recrimination. Although engineering humans to emit behavior-altering chemical substances was an idea that had some seriously big-league applications. He filed the notion away, making a mental note to schedule an appointment with his patent lawyer, and slowed his pace so that Clark could catch up with him.

"Lex," Clark said when he closed the gap between them. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," Lex replied, turning around with a terse smile. "I just got a little too caught up in long-buried memories." He cleared his throat and added, "Sorry about that."

"What's to be sorry about?" he asked. "I'm flattered that you felt comfortable enough to share that with me." He reached out tentatively to rest his hand against Lex's cheek.

"What can I say," said Lex, his tone dull. With a slow but deliberate motion of his head, he removed his face from contact with Clark's hand. He looked into his eyes earnestly. "I trust you."

Clark frowned uncertainly. "I'm glad," he said. "Because I trust you too."

Although Lex had turned to continue walking he stopped at this statement and whirled around to face Clark, eyebrows raised quizzically. "Do you?"

"Of course." Clark blinked. "You seem surprised."

Lex narrowed his eyes and considered Clark thoughtfully for several seconds. Finally, he turned around and kept walking. Almost casually, he glanced over his shoulder and said, "You're a man of many talents, Clark, but I'm telling you as a friend: lying is not one of them."

Clark scowled and trotted to catch up. "Lying isn't a talent, Lex."

"Ah, but I see you've mastered the abrupt subject change as a means of survival." He smiled faintly to himself. "Darwinism triumphs again."

"Where did this come from?" Behind him, Clark's voice sounded almost desperate, pleading. He really wasn't making the connection.

"Don't insult me, Clark," Lex said flatly, without bothering to turn around. "I may have lost about fifty I.Q. points from all the head trauma I've suffered in the last six months but I've still got eyes and I can recognize a spin job from a mile away." When this statement was met with no response, he turned to consider Clark, who had stopped in his tracks, frowning pensively to himself. He had the uncomfortable, hunted look of a caged animal but it was underscored with an air of hopefulness. As if he secretly wanted to get caught. Well, if that was what Clark wanted Lex would be more than happy to supply the web of logic. He cleared his throat.

"Look," he said quietly as he searched for the appropriate words. He had promised himself to dispense with the psychological strategy - he was just going to be honest about his feelings. But if those feelings happened to elicit the desired response from Clark, he certainly was not going to object. It was pointless to attempt to discern whether or not this constituted breaking his own rules, as he had never quite been able to understand the distinction between "sharing" and "emotional manipulation." He wasn't altogether sure that there was one.

Clearing his throat awkwardly, Lex continued. "All I'm saying is that I'm not the most... open... individual and yet I consistently find myself telling you things - details about my life - that I wouldn't share with another living soul. But you? Nothing ever seems to slip out. You're like a black hole, Clark, and I'm beginning to wonder if this bond that I sense between us only goes one way."

Clark's expression was simultaneously wounded, affronted, and torn. "I swear that I trust you, Lex. Do you really need proof? Isn't my word enough?" He took a deep breath to quell his rising hurt and anger, an effort which Lex surmised was in no way abetted by the blatant look of disbelief he was shooting him. Clark heaved an exasperated sigh. "Why is this so important to you?"

"Because," Lex spat back. "*I* trust *you.* You're the only one, Clark. The only person in my entire, fucking life that I have ever trusted. Do you have any fucking idea what that's like?" He glared at Clark, his face contorted with gut-wrenching earnestness. There was that truth serum again, acting in full force.

His features softening, Clark just stared back at him, speechless.

"Of course you don't," Lex said quietly. "Because your dad might be a prick, but he loves you. And no matter what happens in your life, Clark, he will always be there and he will never, ever try to hurt you. And your mother? She would give her life to protect you. Her *life*." He paused, squeezing his eyes closed to steady the rising emotion in his voice. "It's easy for you to trust them," he murmured, "because your entire life has been a validation of that trust. But me? I never had that."

Clark frowned, sickened with uncertainty and the feeling of powerlessness. "Not even your mom?" he asked, hesitantly afraid of the answer.

"No," Lex said, wincing slightly as he looked away. "No. Underneath it all, she was always my father's wife before she was my mother. She loved me sincerely but she wasn't willing to die to protect me." He took a deep breath and raised his eyes to meet Clark's. "In fact," he added, unable to suppress the edge of bitterness in his voice, "I think in the end she *wanted* to die... just so she wouldn't have to."

Clark started to speak but stopped, choosing instead to reach out and place his hand gently against Lex's cheek. Tentatively, he leaned forward to press his lips softly against his.

Lex closed his eyes against the kiss, feeling too tired to resist but too lifeless to respond. He felt utterly dead inside. Weak. Disgusted.

Momentarily, Clark drew away, eyes fixed on Lex, who peered back at him with cold, dull eyes. He set his jaw and took a step back, turning to face the sheer cliff. Raising his eyebrows, he offered Lex a brief, determined look before taking a deep breath and drawing his arm back. Summoning all of his strength he thrust his fist forward, landing a thundering punch against the face of the rock. The force of it seemed to shake the entire mountain.

"Fuck," Lex breathed, steadying himself as the ground beneath him ceased shaking. His eyes shifted from the mound of pulverized rock at his feet to Clark, who leaned casually against the mouth of the newly-created fissure in the mountain wall. This kind of strength, this unfathomable power was *so* far beyond what he had envisaged. He had thought he had known - or at least had an inkling - about Clark's abilities but this was another level entirely.

After a few moments of stunned silence Lex reached out and brushed a finger tenderly against Clark's cheek. He finally had what he wanted and it was even better than he expected. Clark's dramatic gesture had touched him (and, frankly, aroused him) more than he had ever anticipated. Suddenly everything was more complicated, more real, more laden with possibilities. Lex's mind raced through thousands of questions and realizations and exclamations but the only one he could really articulate was, "Wow." *This* he could definitely get used to.

 

*  
*  
*

 

Blushing at the stark reaction his deed had elicited, Clark smiled modestly, pressing Lex's hand against his cheek for an instant before turning to place a single, ardent kiss on his palm. It was an act which, at any other time, he would have dismissed as too cheesy to execute but now, in this perfect moment, he was determined not to check himself. The overwhelming weight of secrecy had finally been lifted from his mind and for the first time in his life he felt truly free.

It was a feeling of contentment destined to be short lived.

A low rumbling coming from high above them broke the intimacy of the moment. Clark frowned. "What was that?"

"A rockslide, I think," Lex replied quietly, peering up the mountain with concern, "or a small avalanche." He looked at Clark earnestly. "That party trick of yours must have triggered some instability at higher ground."

"Well shouldn't we get out of here?" Clark suggested.

"Shh!" Lex held up a finger and narrowed his eyes, listening carefully. The silence was unbroken save for the faint scuff of a few isolated pebbles trickling down the mountain.

A palpable stillness fell across the canyon and all was quiet for a moment until, without warning, a massive shower of icy rocks came cascading down the cliff. Clark acted on instinct, shoving Lex against the mountain face and covering his body with his own. The path was particularly narrow where they stood and there was little room for error. Clark squeezed his eyes closed as the rocks broke against his body, praying that none would strike him forcibly enough to throw him off balance. They were separated from the canyon below by many more thousands of feet than he was comfortable imagining.

At length, the deluge abated and Clark released his iron grip on Lex's shoulders.

"Ow," Lex remarked, frowning and rubbing his ribs where they had been squeezed against the rough stone. Despite Clark's best efforts at protecting him, Lex had been struck on the forehead and a trickle of blood ran down his temple.

"You're telling me," Clark mumbled. Several of the falling rocks had hit him hard enough that he actually felt it. He ran a nervous hand through his hair, liberating a shower of dust and pebbles. "Is it over?"

Lex looked up at the cliff warily, wincing at the sting of the bright sun against his eyes. "Should be," he said. "As long as there are no more major vibrations or noises."

They waited in silent anticipation and Clark strained his ears, listening for hints of additional danger. He could make out the dull scrape of a second rockslide on the other side of the mountain but could determine nothing threatening overhead. He started to relax as the sound died away but then it happened: Clark heard the tinny clank of stone against thin metal and suddenly the air was pierced by a shrill wail that resonated through the canyon. Lex's car alarm.

Clark and Lex looked at each other in horror. "Fuck," they agreed as a fresh wave of snow and rocks bore down upon them.

Clark stepped forward, wrapping his arms tightly around Lex to shelter him against the onslaught but Lex's eyes went wide, focusing on the cliff at Clark's back. Before he could react, Clark was struck with an enormous boulder which sent both of them plummeting over the ledge.

A wave of sickly terror swept over Clark as he realized that while it was possible that he would survive the fall, Lex most certainly would not. No matter how badly he wanted to, Clark was certain he could not sufficiently cushion the impact of an eight thousand foot drop. As the sickly sensation of free-fall overwhelmed his stomach, he clutched at Lex in his embrace and pressed his face against his shoulder. This was all his fault. What the hell kind of idiot punches a mountain during avalanche season? "I'm sorry," he whispered. "God, Lex, I'm so sorry."

There was an extended silence as Lex returned his embrace and the clamor of falling rocks faded into the distance. His eyes squeezed shut and still pressed into Lex's shoulder, Clark set his jaw and prepared for the impact.

But the impact never came.

"Clark?" Lex whispered at last, tentatively stroking his hair. "Clark. Open your eyes."

Clark caught his breath, succumbing hopefully to the prospect that the rockslide had just been a dream. Maybe the whole day had been a dream and Lex was waking him up for breakfast. His eyes fluttered open and met Lex's, which had the panicked intensity of a man determined to control his fear. He glanced cautiously to the side and saw the gaping maw of the canyon in the distance below. It beckoned him cruelly but did not draw any closer.

"Clark," Lex repeated sharply. His tone belied the desperation with which he was trying to draw Clark back to the here and now. "Clark. Are you doing this on purpose?"

He looked up at Lex in confusion and then peered around him, coming to the horrifying realization that they were floating in mid-air, thousands of feet above the rocky canyon floor.

"Hey," Lex said softly, striving to draw Clark's focus back to himself, "did you even know you could do this? Float, I mean."

"No, I..." Clark shook his head perplexedly. "I can't."

Lex raised his eyebrows and craned his neck to peer over his shoulder, past the circle of Clark's arms into the depths of the crevice below them. He turned back to Clark, lips pursed. "You know what?" he announced. "I'm fairly certain that you can. And you're going to need to if you want us to live through this... Well, me at any rate."

Dumbstruck, Clark just peered back at him. A chill breeze gusted past them and emphasized the utter isolation and vulnerability of their position.

"Clark," Lex repeated quietly and patiently with the air of a schoolteacher coaxing an answer out of a reluctant child. "You've got to try and get us back to the ledge."

"I can't," Clark breathed. He was still not convinced that their momentary salvation was his doing. Couldn't it as easily be Lex that was keeping them aloft? After all, he'd been exposed to the meteor rocks. He might have gotten strange powers, just like the others.

"Do it, Clark!" Lex demanded sharply. "Pull yourself together and do it. I swear, I'd slap you if I didn't think it would make you drop me."

 

Still uncertain, Clark stared back at him in shock.

Lex leaned in, bracing his right arm firmly against the back of Clark's shoulders and lifting his left hand to push Clark's cheek against his, taking the calculated risk that Clark would have enough sense to hold him fast. "Let go of the guilt," he whispered. "It's the only way."

Clark did his best to obey and laboriously forced the debilitating thoughts of self-reproach to the back of his mind. He glanced over his shoulder and noticed that they were only about a dozen feet down from the ledge. If it really was him keeping them afloat, his power must have kicked in almost immediately after the impact with the boulder.

Acting purely on instinct he focused on the ledge, imagining that he was attached to it by a tether, and pulling them gradually closer. Miraculously, the strategy worked and soon, spurred on by whispered encouragement from Lex, they were safely back on the ledge. Overcome with relief, they both sank to the ground and relished the feel of the solid earth beneath them.

 

*  
*  
*

 

When the initial shock had ebbed away, Lex rolled onto his side and looked at Clark quizzically. While he was eminently grateful to be alive, he couldn't help but want some details.

Evidently still high on the whole not-being-dead thing, Clark grinned back at him. "What?"

"So what's the story?" Lex asked matter-of-factly, reaching out to give Clark's Herculean bicep a meaningful squeeze. "Genetically engineered super-soldier?"

Sitting up, Clark shook his head. "Alien," he declared with a dismissive shrug.

Lex nodded thoughtfully. Alien, eh? He could work with that. The scientist in him catalogued Clark's powers and decided that his planet of origin must be significantly more massive than Earth with a denser geological foundation and a more viscous atmosphere. He marveled at Clark's remarkable resemblance to a Homo Sapiens - a testament to the fact that convergent evolution was viable even on a cosmic scale - and couldn't help but wonder about internal organs and the like.

At this thought, Lex's mind naturally wandered once again to the odious Roger Nixon and he was doubly thankful for having given him the order to lay off the Kent family. This was *one* alien baby that muckraker would never get his hands on.

It was odd - in learning the truth about Clark Lex had made the discovery of the millennium but felt absolutely no temptation to exploit it. All he wanted to do was protect him. And for the first time Lex began to get an inkling of why Jonathan Kent behaved the way he did. He looked over at Clark, who lay staring up at the sky, a somewhat perplexed but dreamy look on his face.

"So," he began with a sly smile, prowling forward to hover over Clark enticingly, "E.T. Let's talk anatomy."

"Smart ass," Clark murmured, and reached up to silence Lex with a kiss.

 

The ensuing make-out session was satisfying but disappointingly brief, lasting only as long as it took Lex to remember to look at his watch.

"Crap!" he said suddenly, pulling away from Clark with a start. "It's late afternoon already. We've got to get going."

"Oh come on," pleaded Clark, reaching up to pull Lex back down. "Just a little longer..."

Lex's eyes widened with astonishment as he ducked away from Clark's grip. He couldn't *believe* that Mr. Responsibility was forcing *him* to be the bad guy. "I've got to get you back to Smallville at a decent hour," he insisted. "If I don't get you home on time I'm guessing the likelihood of sanctioned sleepovers at Luthor Manor are unlikely to take place anytime in the near future."

Clark seemed to respond to this argument, his face turning suddenly ashen.

"And I'll tell you right now," Lex added, "I'm not climbing up some termite-ridden, fifty-year-old trellis to sneak into your room at night."

Clark nodded and sat up abruptly. "Right," he said determinedly. "We'd better get moving." He leapt to his feet and sped off in a blur of denim and plaid.

Shaking his head, as much in amusement as amazement, Lex had just gotten to his feet when the blur returned, pulled him in for a deep, intensely lingering kiss that seemed to stop time, and then sped off again without a word. Lex smiled, smoothed the front of his shirt, and took to the mountain trail, fully confident that their entire camp would be packed and ready to go by the time he arrived.

 

*  
*  
*

The long journey back to Smallville had been remarkably uneventful considering the set of circumstances. As Lex had predicted, Clark had struck the entire camp by the time he reached the clearing and they immediately set out on the trek back to the car. The hike took about an hour, as Lex had categorically refused to be speed-carried back to his vehicle, claiming the idea was too unsettling. He was not, however, above allowing Clark to carry all of their gear. Once they reached the highway, it had taken about fifteen minutes to extricate Lex's Explorer from beneath a substantial pile of rocks and snow. It would have taken even longer if Lex hadn't suggested to Clark that he clear away only enough debris to liberate the roof and then lift the whole truck free by getting a solid grip on the open moon roof, which he obligingly activated with a quick double beep of his remote.

For Clark, the drive home had been particularly enjoyable as it afforded him the opportunity to let loose everything he had spent his life keeping bottled in. The burden of secrecy had become particularly difficult for him since the onset of adolescence, when his problems always seemed to be either directly caused by his parents or way too embarrassing to discuss with them. Lex proved himself to be an excellent listener, for which Clark was immensely grateful. Already, Clark found himself wondering how he had managed for so long without an outlet.

They were struck again by poor freeway karma as they skirted Metropolis, becoming embroiled in the swarms of weekend traffic that flooded back into the city on Sunday evenings. Clark hadn't minded, though, particularly since Lex had let him drive that leg of the trip - although Lex's primary motivation for the switch had been to gain the ability to duck under the dash and avoid being spotted in a truck that looked like it had been used in the remake of 'The Grapes of Wrath.' But while it was well after midnight when they finally pulled up the gravel drive of the Kent Farm it seemed too soon by far from Clark's perspective. His disappointment was mollified, however, by the notable reward of a good night kiss.

Clark leaned forward, one hand cradling Lex's neck as they kissed, his thumb exploring the contours of that soft, perfectly smooth scalp. His other hand rested lightly on Lex's knee.

As if working independently of its master, Clark's hand slid gradually up Lex's leg, fingers lingering on the firm muscles of his inner thigh. His touch light at first, Clark began kneading Lex's thigh with increasing intensity as the passion of their kissing increased.

Suddenly Lex hissed, drawing away abruptly as he stared back at Clark.

"What?" Clark asked, his voice choked with concern. "Was that too hard? To fast?" He recalled Lex's insistence that they take things slowly and swallowed guiltily. "Too soon?"

But Lex just chuckled quietly and shook his head. "No, Clark, it's just... You caught me by surprise. I've got a pretty fair sized bruise there."

"From the rockslide?"

Lex laughed outright. "From you. Last night."

"*I* did that?"

"Jesus, Clark, how hard did those rocks hit you?"

Clark laughed and exhaled in relief, the assurance that he wasn't going crazy the perfect epilogue to a very surreal day. He looked up at Lex. "So what happened after the fire last night - it wasn't a dream? And you really did..."

"Kiss you? Absolutely."

"And I really did..."

"Try to shish kebob my thigh? Categorically."

"And we really did..."

Lex wasn't bailing him out a third time. He just smirked and peered back at Clark expectantly.

Clark offered an awkward smile as he searched for the right words. "...share an intimate moment?"

Lex looked at Clark earnestly and reached out to grip his shoulder. "Okay, my first official act as Boyfriend is to forbid you from watching Oprah ever again. Ever." He leaned back in his seat and shuddered.

Once the reality of the revelation had finally set in, Clark bit his lip remorsefully. "So I really did bruise you, eh?" he asked with a tentative frown.

Rolling his eyes, Lex chuckled wearily. "Yes, you certainly did," he affirmed. "And it's a beauty. Every color of the rainbow."

Clark lifted his eyebrows, his lips curling into an enticing smile. "Sounds pretty. Care to show me?"

"My pleasure," Lex replied. "But not on a school night. I wouldn't want to get you grounded."

"You forget," said Clark, "I can fly."

"Not very well."

Clark grinned begrudgingly but his heart softened at Lex's smile and uncharacteristically easy laughter, laughter that Clark felt suddenly compelled to silence with his lips.

When the kiss finally broke, Clark pulled back with a sweet and alarmingly contradictory, innocent smile. "So," he said. "Next weekend?"

Lex smiled. "Of course."

"Think we can go to Metropolis and check out your telescope?"

Raising his eyebrows dubiously, Lex let out a sharp breath. "Is that a euphemism?"

"Does it matter?"

"Good point."

Clark continued, rolling his eyes to the ceiling dreamily. "And maybe when you're done showing me your bruise and your telescope you could let me in on that super-secret boy scout hypothermia cure of yours..."

With a soft laugh, Lex shook his head. "We'll see," he said. "It'll depend on how many merit badges you earn. Now get yourself inside before Scout Master Kent comes out here and starts handing out demerits."

 

*  
*  
*

 

The slam of the screen door at his back seemed unusually loud against the utter stillness of the kitchen, but Clark barely noticed. He let his backpack slide from his shoulder to the floor and sauntered over to the kitchen table, where he mother was poring over the Sunday crossword.

"Hi, Mom," he said brightly, offering her a quick kiss on the forehead as she pretended to suddenly register his arrival.

She beamed up at him with a maternal delight that rivaled the T.V. moms of the 1950's. "Welcome home, Clark. Did you have fun camping?"

Unable to suppress his mirthful snort, Clark just smiled and said, "Definitely." He looked up as the characteristic creak of the staircase alerted him to the fact that his father had arrived. "Hi, Dad."

Jonathan leaned against the wall and eyed his son skeptically. "You're late," he pointed out.

"Yeah," replied Clark, his eyes scouring the floor momentarily until he raised them to meet his father's gaze, "but it wasn't our fault. There was this avalanche, see, and..."

"An avalanche?" Martha stood up abruptly and placed a concerned hand against her son's cheek. "Clark, honey, are you all right?"

Clark shrugged and offered his mother a reassuring smile. "Fine," he said, "perfectly. It was Lex's car that took the brunt of the damage." He glanced over at his dad, who appeared dubious. "It'll be on the local weather stations," he added defensively. "You can go check it out if you don't believe me."

"Of course we believe you," Martha insisted, rubbing Clark's shoulder comfortingly as she shot a threatening look at her husband.

"Sure," he reluctantly concurred. "Of course." With an air of forced casualness, Jonathan strode over to Clark, placing a hand firmly on his shoulder. "You're sure you're okay, son?"

Clark offered an endeared, understanding smile of the sort with which too few teenagers indulge their overprotective parents. "It's okay," he assured his father, patting the back of his hand. "I'm okay. And I always will be because I have a lot of people looking out for me. You... mom..." He widened his eyes earnestly. "And Lex."

Raising her eyebrows at this, Martha looked from father to son and then very deliberately went back to her crossword. Her outward equanimity, however, was not shared by her husband.

"Lex," he hissed. The animosity in his tone correlated to either a bad cover-up of his substantial dislike for Lex or a moderate cover-up of his belief that the Luthor scion was, in fact, the anti-Christ. Either way, the reaction was hardly encouraging.

"Yes," Clark affirmed, "Lex." While it was in no way aggressive, his expression made it clear that this was a topic upon which he would not, under any circumstances, be budged. It was a look he had learned from his dad... and an unusually stubborn cow named Penelope.

"Ah," replied Jonathan, immediately recognizing the Penelope face and the associated futility of the argument. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair in defeat. "Well, you've always had good instincts about people. If you really believe that Lex has your best interests in mind, then I have to respect that.

"Good, because I do. He does."

"I certainly hope so."

There was an awkward silence, underscored by Martha's tuneless humming as she pondered the crossword.

Eventually, Jonathan spoke up. "You'd better get to bed, Clark. You've got chores to do in five hours."

Clark nodded and kissed the top of his mother's head before heading upstairs. As he mounted the first step, however, he turned back to face his father.

"Hey Dad?"

"Yeah?"

"When you were a boy scout, did you ever get hypothermia?"

Brow deeply furrowed, Jonathan regarded his son for several moments. At last, he folded his arms and muttered, "You're grounded."

"Sure, dad." Clark smiled and strolled up the stairs without another word.

Jonathan frowned and turned to face his wife, who had remained peculiarly silent during the spontaneous - and some might say unwarranted - grounding of their son. But before he could speak, Martha looked up at him and smiled.

"*Finally*," she breathed, throwing down her pen triumphantly. "Thank god for 'hypothermia.'" When Jonathan stared back at her in abject confusion, she clarified. "An eleven letter word for 'exposure.'" Martha pushed the newspaper across the table with exultant finality and smiled slyly up at her husband, who shook his head with a pained expression, hand lain wearily across his face.

 

*  
*  
*

 

Lex smiled as he watched Clark mount the stairs to his house, lingering in the driveway until he saw the porch light flicker out. The kitchen light had been on when they arrived and it amused him that the Kents, true to Rockwellian form, had waited up for their son to return home.

With a short, contented sigh he maneuvered the Ford back towards the road, noting that the crunch of tires against gravel was the only discernable sound. He wondered absently whether some discontented youth had summoned all of the crickets to serve him or her in a vengeful meteorite-fueled army but dismissed the notion almost immediately. Not because he deemed it was unlikely but because, frankly, he couldn't care less.

He gave the panel at his left elbow a quick tap and the windows obligingly rolled down, welcoming the sharp chill of night into the truck. Lex took a deep breath and smiled, relishing the way the breeze made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. Or was that sensation just a lingering aftershock of Clark? It had been a successful weekend, much more so than he could have possibly imagined. Thanks to a very unusual series of events the infinitesimally probable had occurred. Lex Luthor was satisfied. And, damn it, things were only going to get better.

As he pulled out onto the main road, he fished around inside his jacket until he found his cell phone and flipped it open, glancing absently at the time. 1:20am. He hesitated for a moment and then shrugged, punching in the auto-dial.

"Yes. Hello. Jensen, it's... Why, yes, I do know what time it is. I'm using a miraculous device known as a 'cell phone' that has its very own built-in clock. Technology is amazing, isn't it? Oh, and by the way this is Lex Luthor... Yes... Yes, I thought you might feel that way. Apology accepted." 'This time,' he added mentally.

Cradling the phone on his shoulder, he planted both hands on the wheel as he accelerated into Parson's Curve. He estimated that the hairpin turn was at least 4*pi/5 radians and enjoyed tackling it hand-over-hand, the motion pleasingly reminiscent of the way Olympic speed skaters handled their tighter curves. Meanwhile, his executive assistant was babbling about something that would have annoyed him if he were listening. Hell, it annoyed him anyway.

"Jensen," he interrupted irritably. "I didn't call to go over this week's agenda. I need you to do something and it needs to get done yesterday... I need a telescope... That's right... The best there is, that's what kind... Well, how the hell should I know?"

Lex issued an exasperated sigh as Jensen revealed her utter incompetence on the other end of the phone. "Look," he said at last, "I've got an old friend who works at the Metropolis Observatory. Dr. Bourke. Call him and find out what model you should buy." He rolled his eyes. "He's in my rolodex. Under 'B.' It comes after 'A' but before 'C.' Think you can handle that?"

He listened quietly for a moment and then spat out, "No, don't call him tonight! He's much too important to be disturbed at this hour. Do you have any idea what time it is?"

Smirking, Lex wondered whether the flustered woman had even registered the unsubtle insult. "Good," he said calmly as she parroted the instructions back to him. "Have it delivered to the Ganymede penthouse by Friday afternoon... No, make that Thursday afternoon. Put it on the Hephaestion account. Right. Make it happen. Goodnight."

Hanging up the phone just as he pulled up to the mansion, he pondered for a moment and then hit redial. "One more thing," he said without waiting for a greeting on the other end. "I'll be in the city on Thursday. Clear my schedule for the entire afternoon."

He snapped the phone closed and pulled through the security gates, taking a tree-obscured side road to park around back. Normally when he arrived home after midnight he just parked haphazardly by the front door, leaving the keys in the foyer so the butler could move the car to the garage first thing the next morning, but he wasn't about to leave an avalanche-riddled eyesore in front of his house overnight. He'd be better advised to put the damn thing on blocks in the topiary. At least there it might be interpreted as avant garde art.

As he killed the ignition, it suddenly occurred to Lex how exhausted he was. It had been a draining weekend both physically and emotionally and he was ready for a good night's rest in preparation for an extremely busy upcoming week. Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday were scheduled with meetings down to the femtosecond. Thursday he would travel to Metropolis and spend the afternoon interviewing for a new executive assistant - a competent one - and take the evening to learn how to use his new telescope. And Friday... Friday would be all about Clark. No more mind games, no more lies. Just the two of them.

Lex smiled. He had stopped believing in God a few years before the Easter Bunny, but as he raised his eyes to take in the uninterrupted hemisphere of the Kansas heavens he offered a word of thanks. Finally, whatever higher powers might be had sent him a worthy companion. Someone who he actually cared about. Someone whose light could balance out his darkness, completing him, and someone whom he could complete in return.

With a weary but contented sigh, Lex mounted the broad stone steps to the back entrance of the mansion. Friday seemed like it was an eternity away, but it didn't matter. For some things, waiting an eternity was a negligible price to pay.

 

End.


End file.
